Rogue Chatter: Sweetheart's Day
by Jin-Rio-Akabi
Summary: For Valentine's Day (OTP Day) 2017. Short fluffy Han/Leia oneshot featuring the usual suspects. On Echo Base it's hard enough adjusting to the cold, let alone falling in love with a Princess.


"I give it two weeks."

"Nah, they're hopeless. If it happens – _if_ – it'll be at least another six months."

"If Solo's still here in six months."

"You kidding? _Six months_? Way sooner."

"By lover's day they'll be at it like _lothcats_ , Hobbie. You wait."

"Who'll be at it like lothcats?"

Wedge Antilles almost jumped out of his parka when the unmistakable sound of Luke Skywalker's curious voice piped up behind him.

"Sith, Luke. Don't _do_ that."

Edged with naïvety, Luke repeated his question. "Who'll be, uh, 'at it like lothcats'?"

The Rogue Squadron exchanged looks of dismay. While Luke's juvenile infatuation with Leia Organa had long since been deemed 'puppy love', it was still a subject they pussyfooted around to spare the young commander from any needless embarrassment.

"Uh… Han and, um-"

In dejected realization Luke rolled his eyes – resembling, for a brief second, the princess herself – and threw himself down onto a packing crate beside Wedge. "Han and Leia, I _know_." He sighed.

"I take it the mission went as exactly as predicted, Commander?" Hobbie drawled. Luke had just emerged from the _Falcon_ after a mission to a mid-rim planet to procure some medi-droids for the rebellion. A hold full of malfunctioning, tetchy robots had irritated Han beyond belief and most of the journey had been spent hiding in the aft hold playing sabacc with Chewbacca to avoid being caught in the crossfire of one of his and Leia's arguments, now infamous amongst the soldiers of the rebellion.

"They never _stopped_." Luke muttered. From his perch on a crate of jet fuel, Janson sniggered and glanced at Kesin Ommis, raising an eyebrow. The tailgunner bit his lip to suppress his laughter and shook his head at the implication.

Typically, Luke didn't notice, just accepted the bottle of pilfered ale from Wedge and gave him a weak smile.

"I'm exhausted." The blond yawned, taking a swig and leaning on Wedge's shoulder. "They spent a whole day arguing about crash webbing."

Wes grinned. "Yeah, _sure_."

Luke narrowed his eyebrows. "Huh? I'm not making this up, Janson. I swear. Ten standard hours! He kept storming out of the cockpit and making another nonsense point."

"What I mean, most oblivious commander, is that while _you_ think they were bickering over the slow disintegration of all the _Falcon's_ health and safety, they were actually disguising the fact that all they wanted to do was head straight to Solo's bunk and do it Correllian styl-"

Wes was silenced by a sharp elbow to the gut from Derek Klivian. He'd just choked out a mangled "Mother _fucker!"_ When he raised his eyes and saw just why Hobbie had shut him up so rapidly.

"Solo!" Cried Wedge, masking their conversation. "How's things?"

Han raised an eyebrow. "How's things?"

"Yeah… you know – what's – kicking?"

Luke put his head in his hands.

Solo just shrugged, grabbed a beer and sprawled onto the duracrete beside his friends. "I'm not stupid, Antilles. You're acting like even more of a moron then normal, so out with it."

Wedge scowled.

"Fine, fine. Lemme guess." Han tapped his thumb on the side of his bottle. "Nobody's hurt... Our mission went fine, so it can't've been that…" At this point, Luke gave Han such a look of malice it could've melted the base.

"Ah – tomorrow it's Lover's Day! You finally gonna tell your special someone how you feel about them, Wedge?"

Han was shooting in the dark, and completely missed the stricken look that appeared on Wedge's face for a second. When Luke glanced at him, puzzled, he flushed red and urged him to ask his question.

"Lover's Day?"

Han rolled his eyes.

"You've never heard of Lover's Day? You do anything at all on that backwater sandbox of yours or just spend everyday sucking water out of dirt?" Laughed Han, not unkindly.

"Hey! No, we had the, uh, the harvest festival!"

"Oh? And what's that?"

"We used to celebrate on the day we got the _most_ moist- I don't have to explain myself to you!" Luke huffed.

"You know, on Coruscant they call it 'Sweetheart's Day.'" Omris interjected.

"Yeah, well, us Correllians are a little less subtle."

"You don't say?" Wedge guffawed, his colour back.

Wes nodded in agreement "I saw you in the hangar the other day when the Princess walked in – if you'd gotten any closer you'd have fallen in her rucksack."

Han furrowed his brow. "Why is it–" He took a sip of his drink – "-that every time we start talkin' it always turns into a discussion group about me and the princess!?

"I don't know." Grinned Wes. "Maybe because you _like_ her?"

"You sound twelve years old, Janson." Han spat.

"For the last kriffing time. _I. Do. Not. Like. Leia._ "

It was becoming slightly ridiculous; the amount of people discovering the rogues' secret meeting places. Perhaps hiding in corner of the hangar behind crates hadn't been the most sensible place to hold such tender conversation topics after all – there was a sharp intake of breath from behind the captain, and then the echo of retreating footsteps.

The next day, like most days on Echo Base, dawned freezing and dismal. The sky, snow and walls melded into one bleak pale grey, and it took Han at least a half hour to emerge from his bunk.

It seemed colder on the _Falcon_ than usual. Perhaps the heating had given out.

"Chewie," Growled Han as he slunk into the hold, "Is it frostier than normal on this ice cube, or am I just wearin' less socks?"

He heard a short groan from around the corner, and instead of the expected roared reply, he heard –

"You said he was scouting! You told me he wouldn't be here!"

Han sped up.

In the galley, Leia had both hands around a large mug of kaf and a foul look on her face.

Chewie was habouring a smug look.

"[I heard about the stupid thing you said.]"

He began to shuffle from the room, ruffling Han's hair as he passed.

"[Hug it out.]"

When Han had shaken his hair away from his line of sight, he caught Leia's eye. She blushed and sipped her drink. "He lured me here under the pretence of having extra kaffe. We've run out on base."

"Ah. I see."

There was an awkward pause, and then –

"Princess, I don't know how much you heard yesterday, but –" He sighed, dejectedly. "I didn't mean it. You're a good friend."

She blinked, and bit her lip. "Thank you," She murmured.

He gave a soft smile. "And I'm sorry. Janson was pissin' me off, I was just trying to get him off my case."

"Oh?" Leia finally returned his smile, and he felt a weight lift. He stared at her for perhaps a beat too long, but managed to mutter –

"Yeah. He's convinced I like you." She grinned, and he felt butterflies in his stomach.

"You're forgetting," She laughed, and it was all he could do not to kiss her right there –

"You _do_ like me. I'm a _good friend,_ remember?"

She put on his gruff tone, and he laughed along with her.

"You worried me for a second there, Your Highness. Thought you were never gonna speak to me again."

She played along. "Then who would be my personal pilot?"

"Is that all I am to you?" He mock gasped. "Honestly, Princess. I thought you'd've put me a little higher on the list…"

She shook her head, drained her mug and began her exit. Halfway out the door, she paused, took a step back and stood on her tiptoes. Giving Han a chaste kiss on the jaw, she murmured: "Happy Sweetheart's Day, Solo." And made her leave.

He could only watch, mesmerised and rooted to the spot. Cradling his chin – her kiss had landed dangerously close to his mouth, he followed her back into the hold and watched her disappear.

Han Solo was not soft. Of course, that didn't explain why fifteen minutes later he was lying on his bunk still clutching his face. Tomorrow, he decided, tomorrow he'd bring her kaf himself.

Maybe he'd score another kiss.


End file.
